Mission Aborted
by FangirlingFanatic
Summary: What if Mary found out about what was going to happen to Sam and her and decided to abort him? What if she died in the abortion instead of him? What if John found out about everything, including one of the lies Mary was fed, and it drove him to become an abusive monster? T for abuse. Lots of Bromance, hopefully reads better then it sounds.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey guys! Thanks so much for checking this story out! The first chapter was a little difficult to write, but I can promise the next ones will be better. I've already written them and they flowed WAY better.**

**Enjoy!**

_**SPN**_

"Are you sure Abby?" Mary asked as she tried to breath properly. They were in Abby's kitchen, she had called Mary and said she'd had a vision. Now they were hunched over her granite counter. The bright yellow walls and white cupboards and matching appliances doing little to brighten the mood.

"Mary, I'm just telling you what I saw. You're only five months pregnant, there's still time to... you know..." Abby gestured with her hands. "Your safety is more important then the baby's."

"But he's my son!" She exclaimed. "I know he's alive... How could I..."

Abby placed her hands on her shoulders. "Because both of you will die anyway." Abby's expression twitched for a second, but Mary couldn't catch why. "Please Mary... Just think of Dean and John..."

She turned away and gripped the counter's edge, her stomach resting against it. It was obvious to anyone who was curious that she was pregnant, her stomach was round and the baby even kicked every once in a while. Not half as much as Dean though, he was the most difficult child to ever be carried.

"Abby, how could I live with myself if I did this?" Mary questioned. She wasn't even aware she was crying until the tears dripped on the top of her hand.

Abby smiled faintly. "You could do exactly that. You could live."

_**SPN**_

Mary packed a small bag before hopping in the car. John's impala. He loved this car and even though their son was only four, he couldn't wait to teach him how to fix it, and drive it. She smiled at the thought.

John waved as she pulled out and drove away. She couldn't tell him why this was happening. She couldn't drag him into hunting, no matter how much she wanted his support. She would just tell him it was a miscarriage, that the baby died, not that she killed it.

She tried to hold herself together as she drove. She didn't need to crash, she needed to live. That was the entire reason this was happening. Because she needed to live. And because her baby was going to die anyway. She'd rather him die before he could have memories. Or at least that's what she told herself.

She tried to distract herself with the gorgeous snow and trees. It was the day after New Year's and Kansas was absolutely beautiful. The qaint little town was sprinkled with snow and foliage. Small houses with minimal Christmas decorations glowed warmly. A tear slipped as she thought about how her baby wouldn't live long enough to appreciate any of this, whether she did this or not.

She turned the radio on, but the music didn't help.

She realized she wasn't doing this for the baby, she was doing this for herself. She didn't want to remember the baby, she didn't want to hold a child in her arms and then have him snatched away by the devil's hand maid. She didn't want to have a second child, and then, not.

She didn't want to have the baby, because she didn't want to loose him.

She turned into the abortion clinic's parking lot and tried not to loose it as she cut the engine.

She wiped her eyes, got out of the car, and walked in.

_**SPN**_

"Are you sure Mrs. Winchester?" The doctor asked. He could see the doubt in her eyes.

She nodded. "Please just do it all ready." She was in a hospital room, machines beeping around her as she lay in the hospital bed. She had her hands on her stomach and she could feel the baby's foot. Small, but definitely there. She felt a tear slide down her cheek.

The doctor grabbed the mask and was about to put it up to her face when she grabbed his arm and looked him in the eye. "Tell my husband I did this for him and my son. Tell him I love him, and this was for him."

The doctor nodded. "I will, and don't worry, you'll be fine, and wake up before you know it." He placed the mask over her face.

Just before she slipped into unconsciousness, she felt the foot move. Her baby, her son, but it was too late. It was too late to save him. She couldn't speak and she couldn't save him.

It was too late for her to change her mind. There wasn't any going back. She tried to move her mouth, tell the doctor she wanted him. That she needed him. That she didn't care anymore, she wanted to see him even if only for a few months. But she didn't have time.

She passed out.

_**SPN**_

Dean was taking a nap when John got the call. "Is this Mr. Winchester?"

"Yes. May I ask who this is?" He lowed his voice and went onto the porch. The house was small and he didn't want to wake his son up.

"This is doctor Jameson, I'm calling to let you know that something went wrong with your wife's abortion," his voice filled with fake sympathy and John tried not to laugh. This guy must have the wrong number, Mary would never have an abortion. But then why had he asked for Mr. Winchester?

"What abortion?" he tried to calm his building panic.

The doctor. "Something went wrong. You wife is in critical condition, and her fetus, it survived."

John's knees collapsed. "What?"

The doctor continued on. "We're afraid that we're losing your wife, but the fetus survived. It's missing a part of it's left arm, elbow down, but other then that is fine."

John felt his cheeks heat up. "That fetus is my child. Was it a boy or a girl?"

"It's male," the doctor droned. How a human being could be so calm about something like this was beyond John, but personally he didn't care.

"I'll be there in thirty tops."

Over the next ten minutes he had asked the Mrs. Field to watch Dean until Bobby got there and had borrowed the Mrs. Field's truck. He reached the clinic ten minutes later and ran inside. Everything was a blur.

The doctor was waiting for him in the lobby. John didn't listen to what he was saying. He pushed and shoved his way into the hall behind him. The rooms were all empty. Except one. And in it was a still body under a black tarp.

"No..." He gripped the door to keep himself from sliding to the ground. It didn't help. He began to convulse. "Mary..."


	2. Chapter 2

**Sorry it took me so long to post this, I forgot to post it after I wrote it. XD Thanks so much for the reviews!**

**_SIX YEARS LATER_**

"Come on Dean!" Sam ran down the stairs at the hotel they were currently staying in. "Dad said we could go to the park!"

"Coming! Slow down," Dean chased after him.

Their dad was in their room, doing some sort of research that required he be left alone. Sam didn't understand it. But Dean did. Dean had listened in on enough phone calls between his father and Bobby to know what was happening. His dad killed demons, ghosts, vampires, werewolves, anything that he thought was evil.

They shoved the hotel's heavy double doors open and ran out into the bright cold day. They were in northern Texas, and even though it was freezing, the sun was shining and the wind was non existent. But they wouldn't have cared whether it was the ice age. Getting to go outside was a reward as of itself.

They chased each other around and climbed anything they could. They only had one more day until Christmas break ended and school started again. Sam hated school. Especially because he hated first grade.

Most of the kids were mean and he wasn't even learning that much. Plus he wasn't looking forward to seeing George again. George always picked on him because of his arm. Sam didn't know why, but apparently he was the only kid in his school who didn't have a full left arm. Honestly, until he had started going to school, he had no reason to wonder why he was different. He thought it was just that, that he was different. That's what Dean said.

But the kids at school said he was a freak. That he was weird, and creepy. One of the girls a school told him he probably wasn't human. He frowned at the thought of returning.

"What's wrong, Sammy?" Dean asked.

"Don't call me that." Sam crossed his arms.

Dean rolled his eyes. "What's wrong _Sam_?"

Sam smiled, but then frowned again as his thoughts returned to his problems. "School. Do I have to go back?"

Dean nodded.

"The kids there aren't very nice." He pulled himself onto the swing and looped his right arm around one of the chains and grabbed the other one. It was hard to keep himself on, but it was worth it.

Dean got on the swing next to him. "Do you want me to tell dad?"

Sam shook his head. "No."

"Remember this then," Dean said, "You've always got me."

**_SPN_**

**_EIGHT MORE YEARS LATER_**

"Come on Sammy!" Dean stuck his head into their shared room. "Rise and shine!"

"I'm hurrying! Have you seen my other shoe?" He ran through the room in a flurry.

"Your what?" Dean screamed from the kitchen. It was obvious he was shouting over a mouthful of something.

"My shoe!" He replied.

"Dude, it's my job to lose things," he walked into the bedroom, and as usual, he managed to make bedhead look good.

"Why was it under _your_ bed?" Sam wondered out loud as he pulled it out and slipped it on.

Dean shrugged. "So are we going to sit here and discuss the possibilities for your shoe's disappearance or are we going to go to school?"

Sam looked up from yanking his shoe on. "Since when do you want to go to school?"

He smiled. "Stacy Liton just got upped to the top of the pyramid. I don't want to miss it."

Sam pulled his backpack on before smirking and pushing past his brother. He was ridiculous sometimes.

Dean smiled guiltily. "What?"

Sam rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath as he grabbed an apple and his history textbook, which he had left on the couch last night, and they headed out the door. The motel they were staying at was sketchy to say the least, but it wasn't as bad as others. As usual their dad was going to be gone for a few days, but Sam wasn't upset. He was actually rather glad.

He rubbed the only sore spot left on him from his father, his shoulder. He tried not to slip into the past, but he could still hear the insults ringing. _"Dirty... Pitiful... Should be dead..."_

"No," he whispered to himself. He shook his head and caught up with Dean. He didn't know, and he didn't want him to. He opened the car door and slid in. Dead already had the radio blaring.

Sam gripped his shoulder and tried not to smile at the fact that it didn't hurt. His injury was gone.

Once they reached the school they went through their normal routine, classes, Dean made out with some girl, classes, flirting time for Dean, more classes, and Dean gets a new girlfriend. A normal day.

But as they were pulling into the parking lot, Sam's heart dropped at the sight of a black truck. Of course John acted normal and almost happy when they arrived, asking how things were and discussing how the hunt had gone. But then Dean went out to get some beer and to pick something up for Bobby, and John broke out the vodka. It was something Sam had gotten used to, but it still made his blood run cold. He tried not to squirm and actually focus on his book as his dad reached the halfway point on the vodka bottle.

"Sam, can you change the channel?" he slurred. The TV hadn't worked since we got here, and the only thing it would do was play the News channel. It refused to change channels or volume, but his dad was so far gone he probably forgot.

"It doesn't work, Dad, remember?" Sam went back to his book and prayed to whatever was out there that his dad would let it go.

John pulled himself to his feet, but he was swaying so badly from lack of balance it was hard to stay standing. "Stop being lazy and change the channel!"

Sam shoved the book aside, and scrambled to the TV. He jabbed at the button, but it wouldn't work. His breathing was speeding up, and he knew if he didn't calm down, he'd trigger his asthma. That wasn't something he needed right now. He swallowed back the bile that was rising in his throat. "Dad, it doesn't work. I'm sorry."

He felt the kick before he saw it. It got him right in the side and knocked him backwards. He blinked back the dots and tried to scramble away. He tried to catch his breath, but all the air had left his lungs and that's when he started wheezing.

His asthma had always been irritating, especially when they were in the middle of a hunt and it'd kick in. But this was worse, he tried not to claw at his throat as his air-pipes constricted, and to focus on reaching his inhaler, but it was hard. It was in his back pocket, but his hand was pinned under his side. He shifted and felt the cold plastic against his fingertips. He lifted it up and pressed the lever just in time. He tried to slow his breathing, and rolled onto his stomach.

His dad's expression went murderous. "You think pretending to have an asthma attack is going to get you out of this one, huh? Well, you're wrong," he pulled his foot back again and landed two more kicks straight into his side. Sam bit down on his lip and tried not to scream, not to whimper. But the pain was flaring.

When John heard his suppressed wince, he reached down and gripped Sam by the hair and pulled him up by it. "Dad... please..." Sam begged. He knew a tear was rolling down his cheek, but he didn't care. John saw it and landed a hard punch onto Sam's left eye, before landing another, even harder, one on his jaw. Sam had been biting his tongue, and he felt his teeth dig into it, the gash now oozing blood. He resisted the urge to sip out the mouthful of blood, knowing nothing good would come out of it.

"Shut up, Sammy!" John tightened his grip on Sam's hair.

"Don't call me Sa-" Sam muttered as John landed his final blow by slamming his son into the wall, his head colliding with it hard enough to knock him out.

**I know that for most of you readers it doesn't rally cross your mind, but I'd really appreciate it if you'd review and give me constructive criticism or compliments, my sister says this story sucks and I'm not sure it's that good anyway. **

**Thanks for reading!**


	3. Chapter 3

**One day later update? I know, I can't believe I did this either. XD Thanks for the reviews, they really mean a lot to me!**

_**SPN**_

When Sam woke up, the first thing he realized was that it was a school morning. Dean was rushing around, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth. He was humming some old rock song, one Sam didn't recognize. But once he saw that Sam was awake, he smiled.

"Dad said you told him you were sick last night, but he said it wasn't that bad, think you'll be able to go to school?"

Sam shook his head and removed his arm from draped over his eyes, it wasn't helping with the light at all. Dean gasped. "What happened to your eye?"

"Nothing," Sam mumbled. He was surprised Dean hadn't noticed any of the other injuries he was currently sporting. "I just tripping and hit it on the table yesterday."

"What about your jaw?" Dean came over and looked over the obvious bruises.

Sam rolled over. "I already told you, come on Dean, relax." He tried not to wince as his bruised chest pressed into the hard motel mattress.

"Fine." Dean said, but Sam could tell he would pry about it later. "See you after school."

As soon as he heard Dean leave the hotel room, the door slamming behind him, Sam managed to pull himself to his feet, his head swimming. The light hurt his eyes, but he didn't want to turn it off, the switch was on the other side of the room and he didn't even know if he was going to make it to the bathroom, let alone the other side of their bedroom _and_ the bathroom. Sam brought his arm over his eyes and winced when it came in contract with his bruised eye. After a few steps he just closed his eyes and using his hand, felt his way into the conjoined bathroom.

Once he reached it, the first thing he did was rinse out his mouth, it tasted like dried blood. He winced as the cold water hit his slashed tongue, the gash was bigger than he had thought. He examined his bruised eye and jaw and frowned at how big and dark they were. Dean was going to put the pieces together sooner or later.

He turned the shower on and when he took his shirt off, gasped at his purple side. It was a mix of purple and green hues and needless to say, it was downright painful. Luckily it was his left side, so it wouldn't hurt when he moved his right arm.

He looked at his left arm, or at least what he had of it. It cut off right above the elbow, and the end of it was crooked like someone had broken it, instead of it forming that way. When he was younger he had asked Dean about it, and Dean had said when he turned sixteen he would tell him. He didn't know what Dean knew, or even have a clue as to what it entailed, but he could tell it was bad, after all, Dean had never refused to tell him anything. He had even come clean about their dad's obsession with the supernatural.

Sam ran his hand over the stump at the end of his arm. More often than not, he wondered what it would be like if that arm was full, if he had a second hand. He blinked and pushed the thoughts back before peeling off the rest of his clothes and getting into the shower. The warm water stung and soothed his wounds at the same time. His tongue was swollen but not so much that it affected his speech. His side though, it pulsed. He tried not to touch it or move it, but it was hard.

After his shower, and after he'd painstakingly dried off and hopped into clean clothes, he went out into the living room and collapsed on the couch. There was a small stain on the left armrest, and it was a dark crimson. Sam would bet money it was from his father's painful beating.

Even though he had just woken up, Sam's head was still pounding, so he decided to take a nap. It was mere minutes before he was completely comatose.

**_SPN_**

"Sammy," he heard someone whisper.

He rubbed his non bruised eye and yawned before stretching. "M'hm."

"Dude, it's six o'clock." He opened his eyes to see has brother smiling from above him.

"What?" Sam bolted upright at the thought of so much time passing, but the startling pain in his side stopped him. He gasped lightly.

"Sammy, you okay?" Dean's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. Sam nodded quickly before sending his brother a fake smile.

"'M fine," he pulled himself up and off the couch and tried to once again ignore the pain that was fully consuming his body, he saw a few dark spots, but quickly blinked them away.

Dean leaned closer, examining his jaw and eye. "Maybe you hit your head harder than we thought," he gently reached out and ran his fingers lightly over the bruises. "Do you think you have a concussion?"

Sam shook his head, "No, I swear Dean, I'm fine," he walked into the kitchen and tried not to cry out as he accidentally bumped his side on the island.

"Dude, your face looks like the Pillsbury Dough Boy's after a beat down," Dean said, trying not to raise his voice, it irritated him to no end when Sam was like this.

Sam could feel his anger building. He wasn't mad at Dean, he would have been glad Dean noticed, but if Dean brought it up in front of his father, he was worried it wouldn't end well. It never did when his dad got involved. He was mad that his father put him in the position where he wasn't only angering his father, but Dean. If it bothered Dean, it irritated Sam. And that wasn't fair. It shouldn't have to be that way.

"Dean, for the last time," Sam tried to keep his voice steady and neutral, he didn't know whether he wanted to cry or scream and he didn't want to do either, "I'm fine. I'd tell you if I wasn't."

Dean opened his mouth to retort when their father walked in. He had been sleeping in his bedroom for most of the day, well, either that or he had passed out from the severe amount of alcohol he had consumed the night before. Either way, he hadn't shown up all day and Sam wasn't thrilled to see him.

John smiled contently at Sam over Dean's shoulder before he turned around, and Sam suppressed a shiver. John somehow had managed to master the loving father attitude around Dean but the scornful attitude around Sam, it was scary but relieving at times. Dean would never have to worry about going through what Sam was enduring, his dad loved him too much, and after all, he was the perfect son, the exact opposite of Sam.

Dean didn't deserve it. He hadn't done anything wrong, and even though he still didn't know what it was, Sam had done something. Sam had done something wrong, and even though he had no clue what, he knew it was bad, his father wouldn't punish him if it wasn't. He had done something horrible and it had something to do with his mother's death. He just knew it.

"Dad?" Dean said as he turned toward him, and John switched expressions quickly from scorn to affection. "Oh God, you smell like a bar."

"I'm taking a shower anyway," he said, before walking off, the bathroom door slamming a few seconds later.

Dean coughed and once he heard the shower on, looked at Sam skeptically. "How drunk was he?"

"What are you talking about?" Sam lied, he couldn't give Dean any clues as to what happened. Especially since Dean put pieces together quickly, even one clue could give away what Sam had worked so hard to hide.

"You know what I'm talking about, unless he dumped a thing of Jack Daniels on himself, he was drunk," Dean lifted an eyebrow, "You okay?"

Sam realized he had started shaking. The memories were flooding back and his will power was weakening. He pulled himself together though and used the cool environment to his advantage. "Nothing, just cold."

Dean raised his other eyebrow, "Dude, you're wearing a long sleeve shirt. It's only seventy in here. Seriously, what's up?"

"Nothing," Sam sneered. Dean stepped back at the violent reaction, Sam had always had a temper, but he had almost never gotten hostile with Dean, never.

Sam headed out of the kitchen and into their bedroom slamming the door roughly, he wanted to scream and throw things and cry and punch things all at the same time. But instead he collapsed onto the bed, landing on his back and covered his face with his arm before slowly calming his breathing. He was done with this, he was sick and tired of lying. He was sick and tired of being hurt. He just wanted to tell Dean the truth so Dean could take him out of there.

He laid there for who knows how long, he lost track after an hour or so. After what he was hoping only amounted to a few hours or so, he decided he should go and apologize. He felt guilty about yelling at Dean, he had only been trying to help. Also, he knew apologizing would lower Dean's suspicions some, and the last thing he wanted was for Dean to find out.

He pulled himself up and grimaced at the pain knotting his side, but it wasn't too bad, so he dealt with the pain.

He cracked open the door and noticed his dad was sitting on the couch. He was drinking a beer and watching the news, and Dean was nowhere in sight. Had he gone off to get something? What if his dad got mad again? Was he that drunk yet?

Sam carefully closed his door and sliding along the wall, made his way quietly into the kitchen. He was relieved to find Dean there, sitting at the table, polishing some knives. He didn't look up when Sam walked into the room, but he did when Sam sat down across from him.

"Dean," he struggled to say, he hated apologies, "I'm sorry about earlier. I don't know what's up with me, I shouldn't have lost it on you like that."

Dean nodded slowly. "Apology accepted, I'm sorry for bugging you, but dude, you look like you got run over by the Impala."

Sam nodded, but didn't say anything else. He didn't want to lie about how he got his bruises, because he knew Dean would find out later, and that was the last thing in the whole world he wanted.

"So, you going to school tomorrow?" He asked, his eyes back to his polishing.

"Yeah," Sam nodded, "I feel better."

"What exactly was wrong with you?" Dean questioned.

Oh God, Sam hadn't thought about what his cover story for his father's cover story would be. But as a Winchester, he quickly thought of something. "I had a stomach virus. It was short lived, but Dad thought it was safer for me to stay home, just in case it made a reappearance."

Dean nodded. He went back to his previous engagements, and Sam just sat there with him, his mind wandering everywhere.

He was snapped out of his day dream, when John walked into the room, his step slightly hesitant. He was already drunk.

"Dean, will you go get some more beer? We're out," his voice was only slightly slurred, but Dean still noticed.

"Dad, you're hammered," Dean reasoned, "The last thing you need is another beer."

"Just go get me one," he said, "or I'll go get one myself."

Dean stood up and grabbed his keys. "I'll be right back, there's a convenience store only a few miles out."

Sam wanted to ask to accompany him, more than anything. But he didn't want to risk it, what if John got mad? What if he beat both of them instead of just him?

Sam didn't want to risk it, so he watched as his brother walked out the door, and he was left all alone with his drunk father.

**_SPN_**

**So? What do you think? Like, no like? I'll try to get the next one up soon...**

**Review, please? It's seriously the best motivation out there. **

**Also, HAVE A VERY MERRY CHRISTMAS!**

**I'm having A Very Supernatural Christmas...**


	4. Chapter 4

**OMG. I've updated three days in a row. This must be a record for me of some sort. Also, thank you so much to the reviewers! I love you all so much! *Hugs to the point of suffocation* Thanks again!**

_**SPN**_

The first few minutes were fine, Dad had gone back to his TV and drinking and Sam had broken out his homework from school the day before. He had done most of it on the bus, but the rest had been things he wanted to make sure he could write and read clearly, like math and science.

He had been finishing his algebra review when John had switched off the TV and lifted himself off the couch, causing the springs to creak and groan.

"Sam, where's my pistol?" He slurred as Sam heard a glass bottle hitting the bottom of a plastic trash can.

Sam ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face as he replied. "I haven't seen it, did you check your back pocket?"

"Of course," he yelled back, "It's not there!"

Sam dropped his face into his hands and tried to think of an escape plan. He could simply run out the door, but when he got back, it would be worse, not to mention he might do something to Dean. He couldn't risk that.

"Sam!" his dad screamed as he came into the kitchen.

Sam tried not to reveal how mortified he was as his dad came up next to him. "Help me look for it."

Sam slowly pushed his chair out and stood up, ignoring the pain shooting up his ribcage. "Where do you want me to look?"

His dad's face reddened slightly with anger. "Everywhere."

Sam tried to avoid eye contact as he brushed past his father and into the living room.

His dad slid into a chair in the dining room and broke out another beer as Sam dug through the couch cushions. He knew it wasn't in there, he knew it probably was in his dad's bag, but he also knew that looking everywhere would assure that his father wouldn't blow up in a random spurt of rage.

He felt under the couch and was shocked to find the cold metal of the pistol meeting his fingertips. He was about to slip it into his waistband, his father was too drunk to handle the weapon, when John threw his beer across the kitchen, the glass shattering and the beer dripping down the wall. Sam covered his head as the glass rained down across the side of the kitchen, ending only a foot from him.

"SAM!" his father screamed. He tried not to scramble back when he felt the callused hand grab the back of his head and pull him up by his hair. He yelped as he felt some of his hair being yanked out. "You think I wouldn't notice that you found it? Why didn't you give it to me?"

"I'm sorry, Dad you're drunk and I didn't want you to hurt yourself," he braced himself as his father punched him in the gut. He bit his lip and tried not to whimper as his stomach flattened and rolled. He drew a hand over his mouth and tried not to retch as his stomach did a fancy acrobatic act.

"I'm not drunk," he hissed as he pulled the gun from Sam's grasp and dragged him into the kitchen. "As a matter of fact, I'm gonna show you how not drunk I am."

Sam gripped his stomach with his arm as his father dragged him by his hair out of the room. He tried not to make any noise, but his side burned, his stomach pulsed, and his hair was being pulled out it clumps slowly. He couldn't help whimpering.

"Shut up," his father snapped. His dad smelled like alcohol to the extent of which it was nauseating. John's hands were a bit shaky but his grip was firm on his pistol.

They reached the end of their hall and John roughly shouldered open the exit door before slamming Sam onto the gravel. Sam felt the rocks scratch his face and hands, hissing as the shards dug into his bruises.

"I'm done with you, it's time you took things like a man," John said in a calm voice.

Before Sam knew what was happening, his father lifted his foot and he felt something crack in his left leg. He screamed, but he couldn't even hear it. All he could feel was pain, bright red, loud, pulsing pain. He would have screamed again, louder, but he felt a sweaty hand clamp itself over his mouth as something was pressed against his side.

"Shut up and I don't kill you here, you're going to draw a crowd," John whispered as he slid the gun up Sam's torso until it rested right over his overactive heart. The pain was still overwhelming, but he didn't scream. The fear had disabled his vocal chords. His father was going to shoot him.

"Now, I think I've made myself clear. You are going to behave, or else," he brought the gun to Sam's temple. "I'll just put an end to your sad excuse of a life. Are we clear?"

Sam nodded and suppressed the urge to scream again. His leg was broken, he could feel the bone shifting, and the pain was so great it was almost numbing.

"Now get up and go inside." John roughly pulled him to his feet and Sam cried out. "Shut up," he smacked him across the face and Sam hit the ground, his head hitting the rocks and knocking him out.

**_SPN_**

"Dad, what the heck happened?" Dean demanded when he returned to his brother's unconscious form on the couch. Sam's leg was bent at a weird angle and his face and hands were scratched up. He dropped the beer on the counter before entering the living room.

"These boys from school came by and asked him to a game of basketball and I found him like this in the parking lot," John slurred, he was still heavily drunk but Dean barely even noticed.

He rushed to his brother's side and examined his leg. He needed to have it set. "Dad he needs to go to the hospital."

"No, I called up a friend of mine, Joseph, he'll do it here so we don't have to bother with all that hospital stuff," John said as he tumbled into the room.

"Dad-" Dean protested.

"Enough," John snapped. "Joseph will be here soon. We don't need a hospital."

Dean was about to argue, but he realized John was too wasted for it to have much effect.

"Fine," Dean went back to examining Sammy. The side of his face was scratched up and so was his hands, but they weren't bleeding anymore. His dad made a beeline for his bedroom. "What'd the boys look like?"

"I don't know," Jon slurred before slamming his bedroom door and collapsing on the bed.

Something wasn't right. John would never let boys beat Sam up, never. He especially wouldn't just let them get away with it. Not after breaking his freaking leg. He would never let that happen. Would he?

Dean shook his head. No, he wouldn't believe it. But he had to. His brother had been beaten up and his leg snapped, and his dad had let it happen. Not only that, but his dad hadn't even reacted severely when he found out. Almost like he didn't care.

Dean shook his head, no, his dad cared, it was just because he was drunk. He cared about Sammy just as much as he cared about Dean. He had to. Tomorrow he would wake up sober and realize the severity of the situation and they would go find these boys and hunt them down. Those boys would wish they had never been born.

Dean would make sure of it. Whoever hurt his Sammy would pay.

_**SPN**_

**So... Whatcha think? Let me know! Also please tell me what you think of the plot so far!**

**Merry Christmas!**

**-Ann**


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